


lost at sea

by thegetfxckedcrew (nintendomiya)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nintendomiya/pseuds/thegetfxckedcrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nino has been Sho's best friend for over 15 years. But lately, something is different. Written for Nino Exchange 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost at sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinoface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinoface/gifts).



> I've been MIA so I haven't had a chance to post this yet but I wrote this for [kinoface](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kinoface/pseuds/kinoface%22) for [Nino Exchange 2015](ninoexchange.livejournal.com/56301.html)! Enjoy!

_“You were always the lighthouse, the port in the storm.” -- r.i.d. (inkskinned)._

*

The clock is ticking past midnight by the time they wrap up for the evening; management has been passing by the boardroom hourly since dinnertime, coughing politely in an attempt to herd them along, only to receive regular warning glares from Jun in response. Sho understands, though. Concert planning is a long process- one that Jun takes right to heart- to produce the best show that they can possibly perform.

“We’ll schedule time for another meeting soon,” Jun is saying. Sho is probably the only one listening; Aiba is shuffling is feet, bag perched on his shoulder, ready to go. Ohno gives a wide yawn from where his chin is nestled on top his folded arms. Nino’s fingers tap the tabletop, a beat that Sho recognizes vaguely but can’t put a title to.

They love doing this, but Sho feels their age acutely during these moments. They certainly aren’t teenagers anymore, bright-eyed till all hours of the morning, vocalizing their visions with one another in grungy hotel rooms. But Sho certainly can’t say he misses the hustle and worries of their earlier years. When he stretches, joints creak that he can’t even pinpoint. He’s not in bad shape, but being too stagnant for too long means his back still protests as he helps Jun push the whiteboard back into the corner of the room, while they gather their things and put notes and folders into their bags. 

Nino sidles up behind him as he shoulders his bag. He’s half-focused on the low rumble of conversation, catching the loose threads of sentences when he jumps at a warm sigh down the back of his spine.

“Gimme a ride?” Nino asks into the crook of Sho’s neck on tiptoe, his chin bumping lightly against Sho’s shoulder as he lowers back onto the flats of his feet. 

Sho says yes, of course, because Nino’s probably just about to miss the last train. Besides, he’d feel better if he took Nino home himself. They bid their goodnights and fight over the radio station on the way to Nino’s (“It’s my car, Nino!” Sho points out, indignantly, to which Nino replies, “But Sho-san, there’s only commercials and it’s _boring_!”). Nino wins, like he knew he would, like Sho knew he would. 

It’s a dark, unassuming night. There are few stars in the sky and they are all dull through the clouds, like the sky is waiting for its storm, but the lightning is in Sho’s veins. When he pulls up, Nino flicks the station back for Sho, as a show of gratitude, and because he knows Sho won’t worry about changing it after he drives away. Each of them puts together a nearly unintelligible set of words to say goodbye. The passenger door shuts, too loud in the empty night air. Sho watches Nino slump his way into the building, shoulders hunched, almost forming a U around his down-turned face. 

Nothing changes, but Sho feels different.

*

It’s 1999 and Sho finds Nino bent over a toilet.

“Should’ve quit,” he’s saying, pale-faced and a little sweaty, “when we had the chance. Do you think they’d notice if we ran now?”

“Well,” Sho says, logical, shutting the bathroom door and crouching beside him, “I think we should have thought about that before they filmed our faces. Now everyone in Japan will recognize us if we go on the lam. We’d have to get plastic surgery, and I don’t trust that.”

He’s pushing Nino’s bangs away from his face while Nino counters, “We could just stay here. Hawaii is nice. It’s…you know, besides the boats. And the heat. And all of the English.”

“Hm,” Sho says, thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’d be more comfortable back home.”

“This is my home, now,” Nino motions to the bathroom, and then groans, lowering his face again. Sho dubs over the noise in his head. He cares about Nino, but he doesn’t want to live with the sound of Nino vomiting in his head for the rest of his life.

“I think you’ll be really unhappy living in this bathroom after a while,” Sho shrugs, wrinkling his upper lip at the smell. Caring about someone doesn’t have to equate to putting on a brave face in the face of their sickness, or in this case, seasickness. He doesn’t feel that bad. He’s down here, after all, with Nino, patting his back and wondering if maybe Nino would be offended if he pushed him aside and threw up as well.

Maybe it isn’t seasickness. Maybe they’re both sick over their debut. Sho is young but he knows dread when he feels it, that tight, tangled pressure in his chest. Without realizing it, his touch gentles, transforms into a soothing rub. “It’ll be okay,” he says, and he pretends he’s never seen the flashes of fear in Nino’s face, the ones that match his own when he looks in the mirror. 

After all, what are friends for?

*

It’s 2015 and Nino is leaning close to him on their shared bench during VS filming. His suggestion is hypnotism, because they used to do it all the time, but less so since national television had been exposed to their antics. It was something they did on the set of Yamada Taro, something that was meant to be fun and time-consuming for them, not a joke to share with the rest of the country. He makes the proposal with lips that curve at the corners and Sho laughs because Nino knows he’ll say yes.

“I won’t make you do any backflips,” Nino promises, “or tell anyone about the porn you lost.” They hook pinkies childishly, laughing at the ridiculousness of two grown men making promises with their fingers. “So,” Nino begins, his demeanor shifting, rubbing his hands together like some sort of mad scientist, “what do you know about hypnotism?”

“Hypnotism?” Sho exclaims, aghast, and Nino’s eyes crinkle as he bites back his wily grin, “No, no, that sounds just like witchcraft to me!”

“Unbelievable!” Nino returns; loudly, just as aggressively. Ohno, on Sho’s other side, jumps in surprise . He gives them a blank look and snorts, returning to that special place in his mind that Sho is always too frightened of to ask him about. “In this day and age!”

“Well, my apologies, Ninomiya-sensei, but I only believe what my eyes can see. I feel it’s only logical-” Sho knows his cue by the subtle shift of weight on the bench beside him; at the snap of Nino’s fingers, he falls limp and heavy, an arm curving around his back to avoid the dull ache of his spine hitting the barrier behind him. His eyes are shut but he knows that Nino is close; he can feel warm breath puffing against his ear when Nino leans in. He tries not to squirm, but it tickles. Nino smells like smoke and coffee and the spice of his cologne.

“You’re under my spell, now,” Nino’s voice says, impossibly smug, against the shell of his ear. “When you wake up…at any point throughout the rest of filming…when I wink at you, you have to blow me a kiss in response.”

Sho doesn’t know what his face looks like right now, slack in faux hypnotism, but judging from Nino’s snickers and the warmth flooding his cheeks, he’s cherry-red. His mouth squirms, pulling sideways a little, uncertain but not displeased- Nino does this sometimes; teases him, tests him. He doesn’t know how to react to the flirting, but he’s only ever played along. 

“Okay!” Nino goes on, when Sho doesn’t plainly make any indication that he’s uncomfortable with this. “On the count of three, you will wake up feeling refreshed- 1, 2, 3...up we go!”

Every time the camera begins to roll, Nino winks at him in full view of it, and Sho obediently blows him a kiss. The guests are amused, maybe confused, but no one raises any complaint and everyone laughs. Before their turn in Korokoro Viking, Ohno guesses, “Oh, you did _that_?” No one understands, but Nino doubles over hysterically anyway.

Their skit makes part of the preview spread in TV Life by the following week. Sho is a little irked that the readers are now privy to something that had started between Nino and himself, but they won’t get the joke, and that eases his conscience in the end.

*

Oddly enough, Ohno is the first one to notice it. Sho doesn’t mean to underestimate Ohno; he doesn’t do it on purpose but sometimes their leader has this look on his face, the one that means he’s not entirely with them. Which means that Sho tends to forget that Ohno occasionally sees more than the rest of them do. 

“It’s like this,” Ohno says, after another long night of concert planning (and four beers at a nearby bar), “it’s like. You know, one day, everything is normal. And then you get, like, a phone call, or something, and you find out that your grandparents are moving, not even very far away, but too far for you to have dinner with them every Sunday. And then Sundays start to change, for you. And it’s just the beginning, you know?” 

Sho does know, somehow. 

“Except,” Ohno goes on, and Sho’s stomach sinks before he can even finish his thought, “it’s you, and Nino. Starting to change.” 

“Satoshi-kun--” Sho wants to tell him to stop, that he has no idea what Ohno is talking about. He doesn’t, not really, but he has a suspicion. 

Ohno’s had enough, though, to ignore him. Drinking loosens his lips and he’s ready to sink this ship. “But it’s not like missing out on Sunday dinners with grandma. It’s the beginning,” he hiccups, laughing a little as he reaches out. He pets a gentle hand over Sho’s hair and hums, nodding. “And you should let it happen, Sho-kun.”

*

Once upon a time, Sho would have chalked up Ohno’s drunk rambling to just that- he wouldn’t have gone home thinking about what it meant and why Ohno had said it. He would have shaken his head and laughed it off and dropped Ohno off with a wave and a smile.

Once upon a time, Sho definitely wouldn’t have sat down on his couch with a beer in his hand, contemplating Ohno’s words, wondering if it was all one big joke and if he was being set up and, if not, what the truth actually is. He’s home, but he feels lost at sea, pulled by an invisible tide into uncharted waters. And then he vows to find his compass.

That night, he sleeps better than he has in years.

*

Nino, Sho discovers, has decided to play the piano during his solo again. 

He finds out- not during meetings, as one would think- in the midst of rehearsal, when the grand piano rises to the center of the stage, and Nino arches his back and stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles. He’s standing less than a hundred feet away as the first notes vibrate out into the stadium and he laughs into his microphone, “What if I wanted to play the piano this year?”

Nino stops; Sho can see his grin from the edge of the stage where he’s standing, and it gets sharper as he moves closer to sit on the bench beside him. “You’d have to write a love ballad,” Nino reasons, airily, “And I have to admit, Sho-chan, I don’t think you’ve got what it takes.”

Sho’s never thought so himself; he knows very little of love. He remembers Ohno leaning over him in a dingy bar, the terrible lighting slicing a foreboding line through his smile, giving him inebriated advice that he still isn’t sure he fully understands. Then, he looks at Nino. “Hm,” he says, “I think you’re right. You’re the one with all the experience, apparently.”

He doesn’t mean it the way that it comes out, but Nino’s gaze snaps to him, dark and cutting. His fingers skim across the keys, picking up the notes he left off on, but his smile shrinks; becomes less sincere. 

“Nino,” Sho starts, but Nino is humming along with the melody.

“You are getting very sleepy,” Nino sings to the tune, “I’m trying out a new kind of hypnotism.” He glances over at Sho expectantly and Sho’s smile spills across his mouth in relief. “Is it working?” He questions, in his normal speaking voice now, and Sho’s eyes shut heavily as he listens to the music. “You must be under my spell now,” he determines, continuing to play, “next year, you can play the piano if you want. You have to write me a ballad first, though. Think you can manage it?”

Sho opens his mouth to say no, that’s impossible, how could he possibly do that? Instead, however, he agrees with a hum. Maybe he really is hypnotized. Maybe he’s gone insane. Deep down, he knows his voice doesn’t lend itself to the piano keys the way that Nino’s does. But the music stops and Nino slings an arm around his shoulders companionably. 

“Then we have a deal,” Nino says, eyes gleaming again, his mouth a mischievous curve. 

“I think you just want me to write you a love song,” Sho says, without thinking, but he’s not laughing about it either. 

Nino shrugs as he stands up. “Believe what you will. It’s what you do with that belief that counts.”

Now, Sho thinks, they’re definitely in brand new territory.

*

On the first night of their tour, Nino changes the lyrics to his solo. He sings, “you are getting very sleepy.” He sings, “you’re under my spell now.” He doesn’t dedicate it to Sho, but Sho will never doubt that it’s about him. And Nino’s right, like he always is.

*

“Sho-kun.”

Jun’s mouth is a squiggle, trying not to grin, and that is endlessly fascinating to Sho. “This was such a great idea, Matsujun,” Sho laughs, though Jun hasn’t really said anything funny. 

“You’re going to fall,” Jun points out, as Sho tips sideways in his seat. He’s fairly certain that gravity is just playing a trick on him, though. “Aiba-chan--”

“Got you!” Aiba’s hand shoots out to grab Sho by the elbow and they both teeter for a moment before Aiba manages to right them. Sho’s almost forgotten that Aiba is sitting next to him, legs brushing against his amiably under the table. He remembers vividly now, with Aiba giggling uncontrollably in his ear. Ohno, on the opposite end of the table, is similarly tipsy but Nino is just grinning into his first beer on his other side.

“It was a good idea, originally,” Jun agrees; he looks too flushed to only have had one drink himself, but he’s more composed than Sho is, that’s for sure. “I am afraid we’re going to start drawing attention soon, though-- Ohno-san, could you please stop, this is exactly what I mean--” 

Sho can’t help but notice that Jun isn’t necessarily trying his absolute hardest to get Ohno to stop clinging to him. Nino reaches over eventually to detach him, shaking his head. “Okay,” he announces, his smile business-like, “let’s move the herd.”

With a blink, Sho finds himself in the back of a cab, sunk deep into the seat. He doesn’t know if he blacked out for a few minutes, but familiar lights blur by, so he knows he must be on his way home. Nino is tucked against his side, face mask in place, eyebrows raised as he catches Sho staring. 

“I’m in the car,” Sho says, though it’s obvious. Nino’s smile can’t be seen but his eyes crinkle at the corners. He doesn’t intend to reach out; his hand moves without permission, pressing gentle fingertips to the laugh lines around Nino’s left eye. They relax under his touch, but remain visible. It reminds him. “You’ve been my best friend for a really long time,” he tells him.

“I know,” Nino says, muffled, “I always will be.” Their hands are linked on the seat between them. Sho doesn’t remember doing that. It’s good, though. 

Ohno sighs, loudly and distantly, from Nino’s left. “It’s not Sunday anymore,” he says, which niggles in the back of Sho’s brain, while Nino shushes him and tells him to try and sleep for the remainder of the ride. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, “but tell Sho-kun that it’s Monday now. It’s already started changing. And, and Nino, can you also tell Sho-kun that I’m sorry about that one time I threw up in his shoes?”

Sho bites back his laugh. Nino doesn’t bother.

They drop Ohno off first, Nino doing most of the leg work to get him inside, for once (but not without grumbling). When they pull up to Sho’s building, Nino digs around in Sho’s pants pocket, making him yelp, and retrieves his wallet. “Did I get dinner, too?” Sho wonders, more out of curiosity than voicing a complaint. 

“No, Leader did. The sanctity of your wallet was kept intact all the way up until now.” Nino pays the fare, and that seals the deal, really. Sho doesn’t question Nino helping him to the elevator; they take it to Sho’s floor in silence, the sort of silence that blankets the sky before the first roll of thunder. Nino pats all of his pockets, probably unnecessarily, in an attempt to aid Sho’s search for his apartment key as they reach his door. Together, they find it in the same pocket as his wallet, despite Sho’s protests that he’d known where it was the whole time (he did, actually). 

Nino kicks his shoes off before turning his attention to Sho’s jacket, a little too handsy in his helpfulness. Sho considers this to be one of Nino’s worse ideas, if he’s being honest, because Sho is a touch too drunk to think about Nino’s socked feet following him to his bedroom. 

“Nino--” 

“I just figured I’d stay tonight,” Nino interrupts, pants already off as he swings open Sho’s drawers to find some pajamas. Sho is too warm in his own body, dizzy over the arch of Nino’s spine and the cradle of his hips. “Is that okay?”

Sho doesn’t answer. He thinks now is the best time to fetch a glass of water because there is nothing more sobering than being slightly turned on by his group mate getting changed in his bedroom. Thankfully, Nino is fully clothed upon his return. He changes himself and they climb into Sho’s bed on either side. He leaves a foot of space between them until Nino’s breathing smoothes out.

Then Sho thinks: Nino is his best friend, but he is also a force of nature. He’s magnetic and charming and his fear could wilt flowers and his smile could make the stars come out of hiding. That’s what Sho believes, and that’s how he knows; that’s how, finally, he understands this feeling. The question is, of course, is Nino the storm, too? 

*

On the last night of their tour, Nino changes the lyrics to his solo. He sings, “you’re under my spell now.” He sings, “please don’t break it.” He doesn’t dedicate it to Sho, but at the very end, he ponders aloud, “did it work?”

Later, during the encore, Sho dances his way over to Nino during Happiness. He grabs his hand and twirls him and they both laugh until they can’t breathe, until they stumble and sing the wrong lyrics. Nino puts his hands on Sho’s hips and Sho wiggles and Nino just keeps on laughing. They break apart for Sho’s air guitar solo; Nino drops to the stage in a fit, rolling onto his back.

From the other end of the platform, Aiba is sprinting toward them, while Jun and Ohno make attempts to continue singing despite the laughter. Eventually, they bring themselves together, running around like a bunch of idiots and throwing themselves at each other, laughing and laughing and laughing.

And when they hold hands for their final bow, Sho’s fingers clutch Nino’s tightly, woven between his own. When Nino grins at him, he knows how their story will end.

*

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning when Sho knocks on Nino’s door. He has to do it a few times before he hears movement on the other side; Nino looks rumpled and sleepy-eyed, his hair flattened by his pillow. He blinks a few times to focus. “I just saw you,” he says, not incredibly displeased but clearly trying to be, “seriously, like four hours ago, Sho-chan.”

“I’m not going to perform it,” Sho begins, hands shaking around the paper he’s clutching, “but I wrote it. And I wrote it about you.”

“Gross,” Nino laughs, showing all his teeth and lowering his lashes in a way that leads Sho to believe that it’s anything but gross. The reaction is heartening. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sho wordlessly turns the page over to him and Nino’s gaze scans it, a blush lighting his cheeks. He touches his fingertips to his mouth; drags them down the curve of his neck, pushes them against his collarbone. He does it in a subconscious sort of way, like he’s seeing the words on paper, inked out before his eyes, and wondering _Is this what you’re writing about?_ Like Sho’s words have drawn a map and he’s following it with his fingers. He cants his hips against the door jamb, leaning into the wood. Sho’s been studying Nino for longer than he ever realized- it’s almost as if Nino’s been using his body to speak in a different language and Sho, despite his diligence, is finally beginning to understand.

“Have you found your way?” Nino asks, mildly, at the end of it. He’s still staring at the paper, crumpled at the edges, _Lost at Sea_ scribbled in the top margin.

“Storm’s passed,” Sho replies, “I know where I’m going now.”

When he kisses Nino, he tastes sleep on his tongue and sees concert fireworks behind his eyelids. His heart drums in his ribcage and Nino’s mouth fits against his, a perfect match. He spills his song into Nino’s mouth and clutches all of the parts of Nino’s body that he could only write about. There’s champagne in his veins, a drunk, bubbly rush, and then Nino says, “maybe you should just come inside.” So he does.

*

As it turns out, Nino’s smile is his compass. His lighthouse. His way home.


End file.
